


Little and Broken but Still Good

by na_na_na_batcat



Category: DCU, Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Angst, Families of Choice, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Sickfic, protective freddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_na_na_batcat/pseuds/na_na_na_batcat
Summary: Billy gets sick for the first time since being placed in the Vasquez home. He's not used to having people actually care about him when he's ill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lilo & Stitch. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but then I had more to say so it'll be three chapters.
> 
> WARNING: there is talk of abuse Billy suffered in past foster homes and on the streets, also he has the stomach flu so there is vomiting.

“What’s the equation of cellular respiration?” Freddy asked.

Billy leaned against the desk in their shared room, pressing a hand to his gut as the stomach ache that had been bothering him for most of the day suddenly escalated with a bout of nausea. “Um. . .” he trailed, brow furrowing with discomfort.

“Come on, man, you know this. Cellular respiration,” Freddy pressed from where he was sitting in the middle of his bed, biology class notes spread out around him.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, It’s uh. . .” Billy swallowed, trying to push down the wave of dizziness and focus on the question. “It’s. . .glucose and oxygen make ATP, carbon dioxide, and water.”

 

“Gold star,” Freddy gave him a thumbs up as he looked down at his notes. Billy smiled weakly as his hand rubbed at his stomach, which continued to tie itself into painful knots. “Do you think we’re gonna need to know the specific formulas and shit, like that glucose is C6H12O6 and that it’s six oxygen, carbon dioxide, and water, and thirty-six ATP?”

“I don’t know. I hope not,” Billy sighed, as everything Freddy had said after ‘glucose is. . .’ had gone in one ear and right out the other.

“Hm, and even if it is it’s something that’ll probably be, like, a multiple choice or matching question, right? I could totally pick the right equation from a choice bank, I just don’t know if I could write it from scratch,” Freddy mused.

 

“Yeah,” Billy said absently, rubbing his hands up and down his arms and trying not to visibly shudder from the sudden chill which grasped him. “Hey, can you pass me my jacket?”

“Too lazy to get up and get it yourself?” Freddy teased, even as he grabbed Billy’s red hoodie and tossed it to him.

“Thanks.” Billy pulled the hoodie over his head.

“Equation for photosynthesis?” Freddy asked.

“Opposite of respiration,” Billy grunted as he finished pulling on his hoodie. His stomach was roiling again, upset by all the jostling.

“Well yeah, pretty much, but can you be a little more specific?” Freddy pressed.

 

Billy closed his eyes and swallowed. “Um. . .sunlight, carbon dioxide, and water make glucose and oxygen.”

“Right, and where does it take place in a cell?” Freddy asked.

“Chloroplasts,” he answered without missing a beat though his eyes remained closed.

“And cellular respiration? Where does it occur?” Freddy asked.

“The mitochondria,” Billy answered.

“The powerhouse of the cell,” Freddy stated absently. “You alright, man?”

 

“What?” Billy finally opened his eyes to look over at Freddy.

“Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it,” Freddy asked, brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” Billy stated even as pain pierced his gut. The lie was second nature and barely even felt like a lie. People didn’t ask ‘are you okay?’ wanting the truth. They asked to be polite and the polite way to respond was ‘I’m fine.’ To answer with the truth was to be a crybaby or a downer and just generally a bother.

“You sure?” Freddy asked, lips pulling down into a slight frown.

“Yeah,” Billy’s voice pitched up with the word, making it come out more like a question than a statement.

 

Maybe Freddy didn’t ask just to be polite. Maybe it didn’t matter. Freddy was his best friend. Freddy was _family_. Which meant not being a crybaby or a downer and just generally a bother was all the more important. He’d already been too much trouble for his biological mother, so much of a burden that the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him without a backwards glance.

 

This belonging he’d found in the Vasquez home was still so new and fragile. He’d made so many mistakes since arriving, he’d almost ruined it all in pursuit of a mother who didn’t want him, who never had, he was lucky they still even wanted him. He couldn’t keep making mistakes. He had to be better, had to prove himself worthy—a worthy brother, son, and hero.

Besides, it was just a stupid stomach ache. Nothing to make a fuss over.

 

Billy swallowed, pushing down his swirling thoughts and the sickness turning his stomach. “Yeah, just. . .don’t see the point of us learning all this shit. It’s not like I plan on becoming a doctor,” he said. The only point in learning it was to do good on the biology test they had the next day. He needed to do good on it. Billy had never really cared about school before. He only cared now because Victor and Rosa did. They had been so mad when they learned about all the ditching he’d been doing and so, so disappointed that he had dragged Freddy into it.

 

He had to show them that he was better than that, that he wasn’t some delinquent—even if he kind of was. After that stunt he’d pulled with the police cruiser, he was lucky to have been sent to the Vasquez family as opposed to juvie, and that was hardly the first illegal thing he’d done in his search for his mother. Billy lied and cheated and stole. He got into fights and ran away from twenty-three homes. He never gave a damn what anyone else thought about him, because he had a mother who loved him and was searching for him just as relentlessly as he was searching for her, and it would all be worth it in the end.

 

He was a fucking idiot who blew every chance he got.

 

“What do you want to be?” Freddy asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

“What?” Billy shook his head and immediately regretted it as a wave of vertigo swept over him.

“Like when you’re older,” Freddy explained.

“Oh,” Billy considered the question for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in the desk chair. “I don’t know.” The most pondering over the future he had done was searching for his mother. He didn’t want to think about his mother anymore. “What about you?”

Freddy grinned. “Comic book artist.”

Billy smiled. _Of course._

 

“I want to draw comics about us. Superman, Wonder Woman, and everyone else has comics so why can’t the Shazamily? Obviously, I’d have to change things—maybe we can be aliens? From another dimensions? Escaped from an evil lab?—to like protect secret identities and all, but I think it would be cool. Kind of Peter Parker sells pictures of Spiderman to the Daily Bugle,” Freddy rambled, gesturing grandly in his excitement.

“’Shazamily?’” Billy repeated.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I decided to call us. It’s like a mix of Shaza-ah-ah-“ Freddy mangled the word as he didn’t want to transform in their bedroom “and family. I mean, if you don’t like it we can definitely try something else. I had lots of other ideas. Like—”

“No,” Billy interrupted. “No, I like it.” _Family._

“Awesome!” Freddy beamed. “We still need superhero names for all of us. I know you’re name is kind of Shaza—mhm, which is fine for like others to call you, but is kind of inconvenient for introductions and for us since none of us can say it without transforming. I know Captain Sparkle-fingers isn’t ideal, but I do like the Captain part. I was thinking maybe something like. . .” Freddy’s enthusiastic ramblings washed over Billy, a pleasant distraction from his discomfort, and Freddy was so swept up in his ideas that he didn’t seem to notice when Billy missed part of what he said because a twist of pain in his gut or a wave of nausea hit so strong as to turn his hearing to static.

 

Sometime later, Victor rapped his knuckles on the doorframe, interrupting Freddy’s chatter. “Time to be getting to bed, boys,” he said.

“Alright,” Freddy nodded as he started to put away all his biology notes.

“Goodnight, Victor,” Billy said.

 “Goodnight, Billy, Freddy,” Victor replied as he turned to go back down the hall.

“’Night, Victor,” Freddy called after him.

 

Going to sleep did sound wonderful to Billy, and maybe after a night’s rest he would feel better in the morning. With that thought in mind, he pushed himself to his feet. He had to brace himself against the desk as the ensuing headrush struck him. He squeezed his eyes shut, grunting softly as his stomach rolled. Alarmingly, bile rose in his throat. He swallowed, tightened his grip on the desk to stave off the urge to clap a hand over his mouth.

“Billy?” Freddy asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Billy swallowed again, heart picking up as he realized he was actually about to vomit. “gonna brush my teeth,” he muttered, already rushing out of the room.

 

He ran down the hall, slipping into the bathroom just as Pedro was leaving. He shut the door and locked it before stumbling over to the toilet just in time for his dinner to have its encore—its terrible, disgusting encore. Billy sunk to his knees, hands braced against the toilet seat as he continued to wretch. He hoped no one would hear him. His gut convulsed. He gagged. His throat burned and his eyes watered. He hoped it would stop soon. It did. His stomach settled into an uneasy calm, a storm’s eye. He sat there on the bathroom floor with the side of his face resting on the toilet seat, too tired from his bout of sickness to care about how gross that was. Besides, the cool of the porcelain felt good on his now sweaty brow.

 

A knock on the door had him jolting up. His stomach rolled in protest at the sudden movement, but luckily nothing came up. “Are you almost done?” Mary called.

“Y-yeah, just give me a minute,” Billy called back. He grabbed some toilet paper and wiped his face with shaking hands. He flushed the toilet and stumbled over to the sink, turning on the tap. He rinsed his mouth, washed his face, and brushed his teeth as thoroughly but quickly as he could.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked bad. Gaunt. There was nothing he could do to change that. He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Mary looked up from her phone. Billy ducked his head and stepped past her quickly. “All yours,” he said.

“Thanks, goodnight, Billy,” Mary said, the bathroom door closing and locking with a soft click behind her.

 

Freddy looked up at him as he entered their shared room. “Dude, you look like shit,” he said, standing up and walking towards him. “What’s wr—”

“Mary got into the bathroom before you,” Billy interrupted him.

“Oh, God!” Freddy exclaimed. “Why’d you let her get in there before me? It’s gonna be like an hour now before I can brush my teeth!” While Freddy was preoccupied with complaining about Mary hogging the bathroom, Billy slipped past him and carefully climbed up onto the top bunk. He flopped down onto his side, curling up and wrapping his arms around his sensitive stomach.

 

“Dude, you sure you’re alright?” Freddy called up to him.

“Yeah,” Billy grunted. He was relieved that the top bunk was high enough that Freddy couldn’t clearly see him. “Just tired, and, um, nervous about this biology test.”

“After all this studying we’ve been doing? We’re gonna knock it out of the park, man! At least we better, or I’m gonna be pretty annoyed about all this time I’ve wasted trying to learn about cells when I could’ve been seeing how high and fast I can fly,” Freddy stated.

 “You’ll do great,” Billy said, voice soft with sincerity. Freddy was doing pretty well in all of their classes despite all the skipping they had done. He had mostly B’s except for C’s in algebra and biology. To Billy that sounded great, but apparently Freddy was usually an A/B student, so for him it really wasn’t that great.

“So will you,” Freddy said, voice just as soft and genuine. Billy turned his face into his comforter. Of that he was less sure.

 

Even before the whole Shazam business, Billy had skipped school a lot. He ran away from twenty-three homes. When he wasn’t in a home he was on the streets, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to school then. With how much he had been absent it was a small miracle that he hadn’t been held back a year. His grades reflected this. He was currently failing biology and French and was barely skating by with C’s in his other classes. Mary had told him that once he started putting effort into his schoolwork, actually doing and turning in assignments, that he would soon see his grades improve. Billy was afraid that maybe he was just dumb.

 

Billy shivered, curling in tighter around himself. He was so cold he didn’t want to move, but he forced himself to, spurred on by the thought of getting warmer. He shuffled so he could burrow under his sheets and comforter, pulling them up over his head. He was still cold. Thankfully, despite his discomfort, it wasn’t long before he fell asleep. Unfortunately, he didn’t sleep peacefully through the night.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When Billy woke he was too hot. He kicked off his sheets and comforter, the movement causing a wave of vertigo to seize him. He laid very still, eyes squeezed shut and waiting for his bed to stop feeling like it was rocking. Pain twisted his gut. He groaned, curling in tight with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Bile rose in his throat. He forced it down and clapped a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose.

 

He did not want to throw up again. His body didn’t give a damn what he wanted. Vomit filled his mouth. He could not throw up in his bed. He pressed his hand harder over his mouth and forced himself to swallow. Tears pricked in his eyes. His throat burned. His stomach turned in protest. He scrambled to the edge of the bunk, ignoring how the world spun around him. He needed to get to the bathroom like five minutes ago.

 

He fumbled down the ladder, missing a rung and falling the last foot. He hit the ground with a solid and awfully loud thump, his knees folding and depositing him to the floor in a crumpled heap. The sound of rustling sheets came from Freddy’s bed, but Billy couldn’t worry about waking Freddy in that moment. All he could focus on was crawling to their desk and grabbing the Justice League trash can before he threw up all over the floor. He succeeded, just barely, in not vomiting until he had safely sequestered the trash can. His reward was that some of it came out his nose.

 

Billy groaned, snot and tears ran down his face. He wanted to wipe them away but had nothing to do so with except for his sleeves. There was a buzzing in his ears, a cold sweat had broken out on his skin, and his stomach felt no more settled. _Could this night get any worse?_

“Billy?” Freddy’s groggy voice called from behind him, and a glow of yellow light appeared in his peripheral vision as Freddy switched on his bedside lamp.

_That was a rhetorical question!_

“’m fine!” Billy punctuated this point by vomiting again.

“Obviously.” Billy heard shuffling as Freddy got up out of bed. “Just hang in there. I’ll go get Rosa or Victor,” he said, the thudding of his crutch as he walked to the door drove into Billy’s chest like a hammer driving nails into a coffin.

“No, don’t!” he shot a hand out in Freddy’s general direction, still not trusting to turn his face away from the trash can.

“Dude, whatever you think their reaction is gonna be I promise you’re wrong,” Freddy stated, sure and earnest.

“No,” Billy shook his head. The world spun, his stomach lurched, he wretched.

“Billy, they’ll help you,” Freddy said. Billy was too sick to really process his words. He just knew that he did not want anyone seeing him like this: weak, pathetic, disgusting—vulnerable. It wasn’t safe.

“No!” he heaved. A whine vibrated from his throat. “. . .please.”

 

“Shit, Billy,” Freddy sighed. There was the sound of his steps again, but this time he was approaching Billy. He came to a stop next to where Billy was slumped on the group. “Christ, man, that’s gross,” he commented, not sounding truly repulsed but instead vaguely fascinated.

Billy wasn’t in a mind frame for picking up subtilities. He ducked his head, even though that meant pressing his face closer to the trash can and the stench of his own sick. It was gross. “Sorry,” he muttered miserably.

“It’s not your fault.” There was a light tap on his shoulder. Billy glanced over to see Freddy holding a box of Kleenex out to him.

“Thanks.” He gratefully took the box and used the tissues to wipe his face and blow his nose.

“So if getting Rosa or Victor is a definite no-go, what can I do?” Freddy asked.

 

 _Leave me alone, forget you saw any of this._ Billy rubbed his fingers over the material of his sleep pants. He knew Freddy wouldn’t just leave him. Freddy had always helped him in the past, and Freddy would help him now. The surety of this knowledge caused something warm to unfold in his chest. “Um. . .” he swallowed. The taste in his mouth was awful and his throat burned. “Maybe some water?”

“You got it, man. I’ll be right back,” Freddy patted his shoulder before leaving the room.

 

Freddy returned a few minutes latter with a cup of water, a wet washcloth, and a medicine bottle. Freddy eased himself to the ground next to Billy, and Billy shifted to lean against the desk so he could sit up straighter. “When I was younger and I got a stomach bug, my dad would put a cold washcloth on the back of my neck. He said it helped with nausea. I don’t know if there’s, like, any actual medical backing to that, but it always seemed to help me,” Freddy babbled as he placed the cold washcloth on the back of Billy’s neck. It did feel nice.

 

“You’ve never mentioned your dad before,” Billy commented.

“He’s dead,” Freddy stated, blunt and forceful—like ripping off a band-aid.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said softly.

“Me too,” Freddy replied, voice heavy. He shook his head.

“Here’s your water,” he stated, too brightly, as he offered Billy a plastic cup. Billy went to take it with badly shaking hands. Instead of relinquishing it, Freddy helped him drink without comment. Billy felt tears welling in his eyes. He blinked them away rapidly. “I also brought some Tylenol. I thought it might help if you think you can keep it down.”

 

Billy considered that for a moment. His stomach still felt sensitive, but he didn’t feel like he was in danger of throwing up again. He nodded his head minutely, not trusting his voice. “Okay.” Freddy set the cup down so he could shake two pills out from the bottle. He handed the pills to Billy and helped him drink the water he needed to wash them down.

“Thanks, I’m sorry about all this,” Billy said as Freddy set down the cup.

“You don’t need to apologize or thank me for helping you, man,” Freddy looked at him and grinned. “I’m just doing what any good brother would.”

 

Much to Billy’s mortification, these words caused him to burst into tears.

 

“Billy!” Freddy exclaimed, horror seeping into his tone. Billy buried his face in his hands. Ashamed and wanting to hide since he was too sick and weak to run. “Billy, what’s wrong? Are you going to throw up again? Are you hurt?” Freddy grasped his shoulders. Billy shook his head. “Then what is it? Please talk to me, man.”

“Brothers?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Freddy said, like it was obvious, like Billy had just asked him if the sky was blue.

Billy slowly lowered her hands. “Always?” he asked, voice like glass.

“Always.” Freddy stated. “You’re stuck with me, man.”

 

Billy leaned against Freddy. “I’m okay with that.”

“Good,” Freddy chuckled. “Because I’m not an easy person to shake.”

Billy huffed a laugh and reached a hand up to wipe at his eyes.

“Feel like you can make it back to bed?” Freddy asked. "I can’t exactly carry you, at least not without going shablam, but an indoor lightning strike is pretty much guaranteed to wake someone else up.”

“I can make it,” Billy nodded.

 

He grabbed onto the desk and pulled himself up. The room spun around him. Billy closed his eyes and waited for the vertigo to pass. “Billy?” Freddy lightly touched his elbow.

“’m alright,” he said. Billy shuffled the couple of feet to the bunk bed on shaky legs. He grabbed onto the ladder leading up to the top bunk. He breathed deep. He did not want to make that climb.

“Sleep on my bed,” Freddy said. Billy nodded and toppled over onto the bottom bunk. Freddy helped him get situated under the sheets and placed the washcloth back on his neck. “You good, man? Feel like you’re about to throw up again?” he asked.

“No, I feel alright,” Billy answered. The chills were back and his stomach was still hurting, but he didn’t feel too nauseous. Mostly he felt exhausted.

 

“Good, I’ll be right back,” Freddy said.

“Where are you going?” Billy asked, pushing himself up slightly.

“Gonna change the trash bag,” Freddy explained as he shuffled over to the trashcan Billy had thrown up in.

“Oh,” Billy’s stomach twisted, but it wasn’t with illness. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not just gonna leave it, dude. That’s nasty,” Freddy laughed.

Billy grimaced. “Sorry.”

The mirth drained from Freddy’s expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re sick, Billy. It’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t mean you should have to clean up my mess,” Billy replied.

 

“If I was the one that was sick would you leave me to deal with it alone?” Freddy asked.

“Of course not,” Billy stated, affronted, even as a voice whispered in the back of his mind that once upon a time that’s exactly what he would of done. He wasn’t like that anymore.

“And would you be annoyed by my needing help?” he asked.

“No. Freddy, what are you getting at?” Billy sighed.

“Brothers. It’s a two way street, Billy. You don’t need to feel guilty or like you owe me for any of this, because this is just what family does—we help each other,” Freddy stated. “You just focus on getting better, okay?”

“Okay,” Billy said softly as he sunk back down onto the mattress, too stunned to formulate more of a response.

“Okay,” Freddy nodded sharply before turning. He tied off the small trash bag and left the room.

 

Billy laid in Freddy’s narrow bed and stared out into the darkened corridor Freddy had disappeared down. His thoughts swirled to the last time he had gotten seriously sick. It had been a few winters ago. He had run away from foster home number twelve because the parents had been self-righteous tyrants who thought they were doing something good taking in ‘problem’ children and trying to beat the bad out of them. They called it tough love, but there had been nothing loving about it.

 

He had been eleven years old and living alone on the streets when he caught the flu. The most help he got was when a couple of gangbangers mugged him, left him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the useless compass keychain in his pocket. At the height of his illness, he’d had fever dreams of his mother taking care of him—of her tucking him into a soft warm bed, singing lullabies to him, feeding him warm soup, and dabbing his brow with a damp cloth.

 

When the fever broke, he was alone, hidden away in a nest of moth eaten and rotting cloth in a forgotten nook of a condemned building. It was then that he understood: the only way to make it in life was to look out for himself first and foremost—because no one else cared what happened to him.

 

Well, he thought one person would care, if he could just find her. God, how could he have been so blind? Billy hadn’t been missing. He was in the foster system. It was the twenty-first century. If his mother had wanted to find him she would have years ago. For almost a decade to pass with no word from her could only mean one thing—she was never looking.

 

The truth had been staring him in the face all along. Had been _told_ to him by his caseworker, past foster parents, and other kids in the system. He had just refused to acknowledge it. He had willfully blinded himself in pursuit of a beautiful lie. His mother as he had envisioned her had only ever existed in his dreams.

 

Freddy re-entered the room. He placed a fresh trash bag in the trashcan and carried it over to set it by the head of the bed. “Just in case. I don’t really want you barfing in my bed,” he explained.

“I won’t,” Billy promised. Freddy sat down on the edge of the bed and set his crutch down before awkwardly beginning to crawl over Billy to get to the other side of the bed. “Freddy?” Billy questioned.

“I’m not climbing up to your bed,” Freddy explained as he carefully maneuvered his bad leg. “I would of asked you to move over, but that would of kind of undone the purpose of the trashcan by the bed.”

 

“You good?” Freddy asked around a yawn once he had gotten himself comfortably situated under the sheets between Billy and the wall. Their bunks were small. Billy had never really noticed before, but now that the both of them were squished onto one he did. Freddy’s side was pressed against his back. It was a closeness Billy wasn’t used to and from just about anybody else would not have welcomed, wouldn’t have been safe, but this wasn’t just anyone at his back this was Freddy – _his brother_ – so instead of tensing for a fight, he relaxed into the softness of the bed and the knowledge that he was safe.

“’m good,” he mumbled, feeling the pull of sleep and following it gratefully into slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and left kudos on the last chapter! I really do appreciate everyone's support, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! <3

Disoriented and vaguely queasy, Billy was awoken what felt like only moments later by the beeping of an alarm clock, but the early dawn light peeking through the window blinds told another story. He turned his face into the pillow with a disgruntled groan, the droning whine of the clock piercing his brain like ice picks.

There was shuffling behind him, and then someone leaning over him. Billy went tense, his heart rate racking up, before he realized it was just Freddy reaching to shut off the alarm. He let out a slow breath, the tension seeping from his frame, though his heart still pounded uncomfortably heavy in his chest.

 

“Billy?” Freddy shook his shoulder lightly.

“Hm,” Billy hummed as he shifted over so that he could see Freddy’s face.

“How are you feeling?” Freddy asked, pushing some of his dark curls out of his face. He felt like he got smashed through a building by an old man juiced up on ancient embodiments of the seven deadly sins. Despite feeling completely like shit, Billy still found himself smiling at the truly ridiculous bedhead Freddy was sporting, or perhaps it was because he was so sick that he found it so amusing.

“Better,” he said, trying to stop smiling but failing.

 

“You do look a little better,” Freddy said, brow furrowing as he tilted his head to the side, “still, maybe you should stay home today.”

That killed Billy’s smile. “No way, man,” he stated. There was no way he was asking Victor and Rosa to stay home sick from school. He could just imagine how well that conversation would go over. They’d think he was trying to play hooky. “I can’t miss anymore school.”

“Billy, you’re sick,” Freddy frowned.

“I’m fine,” Billy insisted, throwing off the blankets and pushing himself off of Freddy’s bed. The room spun around him, his stomach was doing somersaults, but he persisted. He stood and turned to face Freddy. “I feel fine,” he stated, grinning even as his vision grayed at the edges and a high pitched whine started in his ears.

“Sure you do,” Freddy snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

There was a knock on their door. Rosa opened it and stuck her head inside. “Come on boys, you need to start getting ready for school,” she told them.

Freddy looked from her to Billy. Billy’s eyes widened. He shook his head. Freddy sighed. “Okay.”

“Don’t dawdle, you don’t want to be late,” she said, patting the door frame before leaving.

 

Billy turned and walked across the room to the dresser. He braced his hands against it, leaning heavily on it. He closed his eyes and breathed deep and slowly. He heard Freddy approaching him and reluctantly opened his eyes. He opened the top drawer, which contained all of his sparse collection of clothing, and started rummaging through it lackadaisically. “Billy. . .”

“You should start getting ready,” Billy said, without turning to face him. “You heard, Rosa. We don’t want to be late.” He pulled a thin gray shirt from the drawer. It was one of twelve identical shirts. They’d been twelve for a dollar, it was freaking steal.

“Christ, could you be anymore stubborn?” Freddy huffed. Billy tightened his grip on his shirt, his jaw clenching. He didn’t want to argue with Freddy. Freddy sighed. Luckily, it seemed Freddy didn’t want to argue either. “I’m gonna try and get into the bathroom before Mary,” he said.

 

Billy stood tense until he heard the door shutting behind Freddy, at which point he slumped against the dresser. He ran his hand over his face. He paused with his palm on his forehead. He felt warm, very warm. He definitely had a fever. He just hoped he didn’t look obviously flushed.

Sighing, he pushed off the dresser and pulled out some clothes. Getting changed took way more effort than it should of. When he was finished getting dressed, he was winded and his stomach was twisting painfully. He slumped into the desk chair, closing his eyes against the spinning of the room.

 

This was ridiculous. How was he going to get through the whole day when he could barely get dressed without collapsing? Billy tightened his jaw. He could do this. He survived having the flu while homeless during the winter. School with a stomach bug should be a walk in the park. He could do this. He just needed to suck it up and power through it.

Biology was second period. He needed to do well on the test, but for the rest of his classes he just needed to be a warm body at a desk. It was a Friday as well. He just needed to get through today, and then he would have the weekend to hopefully get to feeling better. He could do this. He had to.

 

He finished getting ready, slow but steady. He walked down the stairs carrying his backpack, which felt much heavier than usual though he was carrying no more than he usually did, and headed to the kitchen. Most everyone else was already there, rushing around to grab breakfast and get out the door. In the low level chaos, his arrival went mostly unnoticed. Mostly.

 

“Here,” Freddy said, shoving a piece of buttered toast at him. Billy looked at it with distaste. Just the thought of eating anything, even something as plain as toast, made his stomach want to revolt and his throat feel tight. “Man, it’s not gonna bite you.” Freddy lightly bumped his shoulder. Victor started calling for all of them to get out to the car. “I know eating must be like the last thing you want to be doing, but you should really try,” Freddy commented as they walked out of the house. Billy took a small bite of the toast. It went down as easy as a rock and settled just as well.

 

He climbed into the van, sitting in the back row between the window and Freddy. He hugged his backpack to his stomach and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. His eyes fell shut, the mostly uneaten toast hanging limply from his hand as the van rumbled down the street. Before he could truly start to doze off Freddy poked him.

“Hm,” Billy, blinked at him, trying to clear his blurry vision. Freddy looked pointedly between Billy and the barely touched toast. Billy frowned at him. “God, when did you become such a mother hen?”

 

Freddy leaned closer to him, so that Billy could hear him over the other conversations going on in the van. “I’m not. If you want to see mother henning I can start making train sounds. ‘Open wide, Billy boy, cause here comes the slightly burnt train, choo-choo’,” Freddy replied with a completely straight face.

Billy snorted a laugh. It made his stomach hurt, but the smile that stretch his face was nice. “I hate you,” he mumbled with no heat.

“No, you don’t,” Freddy scoffed. “You love me. Now eat your toast before I decide to grace you with my plane impressions as well.”

“Anything but that,” he replied with lazy dramatics.

 

He took a bite of the toast. It tasted like cardboard and was difficult to swallow. Freddy watched him with a sympathetic crinkle around his eyes. “I was sick a lot when I was younger,” he commented, picking at a loose thread on the long sleeve of his Flash shirt. “I guess that’s where I learnt it, taking care of others or whatever,” he finished with a shrug.

Billy glanced at him. He worried his lip, debating for a moment, before pushing his weight off the side of the van to instead lean against Freddy. “I don’t get sick a lot, but when I have I’ve never. . .” he hugged his backpack tighter to his stomach. “I took care of myself.” He took a big bite of toast just so he wouldn’t have to talk anymore and immediately regretted it.

 

“I think it was destiny we became superheroes. I mean we all came pre-packaged with tragic backstories,” Freddy commented.

Billy forced himself to swallow. “Sucks,” he grunted.

“Yeah,” Freddy agreed, voice subdued. In the row ahead of them, Darla was cheerfully shouting something about kittens. Billy felt starkly separated from the rest of the van and the joyful mood.

Freddy pushed against his shoulder. “But hey,” he began, voice brightening, “flying is still cool as shit, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. . .I mean there are things I would give it up for, like if the fate of the world really did depend on me never flying again, but you get what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, I get you, man,” Billy smiled. “It is cool as shit.”

 

Billy took a couple more bites of toast but gave up on eating after gagging on the third bite. Freddy didn’t say anything, but plucked what remained of the toast from his hand and ate it himself. Soon, the van was pulling up outside Fawcett Central. “Have a good day at school, kids,” Rosa called as they all started to pile out of the van. Billy took a deep fortifying breath, as if preparing for battle, before climbing from his seat.

“Try not to get into too much trouble,” Victor said with a lilt of humor.

 

Billy grunted as he stepped out of the van and was immediately slapped in the face by a cold wind. As they walked towards the school’s entrance, Darla latched onto his right hand as she was wont to do. She swung his arm enthusiastically as she continued to chat animatedly with Mary. The jerking made him slightly dizzy, but he dared not pull away from her. They entered the school, the warmth of the building coming as a small comfort, and passed through security quickly and without incident.

 

Darla hugged him tightly before they had to part ways. Billy gritted his teeth, shit that hurt. “Have a good day, big brother,” she said brightly.  Billy found he didn’t mind the discomfort in the slightest.

He patted her shoulder. “You too, little sister,” he replied, words stilted and awkward. Darla beamed at him, brighter than any sun, before running off to get to her own class.

“You alright, man?” Freddy asked. “I know how bone-crushing Darla’s hugs can be despite how tiny she is.”

“I’m good,” Billy replied with a smile.

The two of them walked together till the locations of their different first periods forced them to go separate ways. “Try not to die before biology,” Freddy said.

Billy rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Freddy snorted. “You know just because you’re a superhero doesn’t mean you need to adopt Batman’s stoicism,” he said before turning to head down the hall leading to his algebra classroom. Billy watched him go for a moment before turning to walk to his English class.

 

The flow of the other students pressed tightly around him, jostling him. He hunched his shoulders, keeping his gaze down as he wove through the crowd. The roar of dozens of overlapping conversations was like thunder knocking around his skull. His stomach twisted painfully. A body slammed forcefully into his side, knocking him into the wall.

He fell to his knees, clapping a hand over his mouth as bile rose in his throat. Above him the Breyer brothers laughed. “You need to watch where you’re going, poor boy, this jacket cost more than—hey!” Billy jumped to his feet and took off down the hall. “. . .Yeah, yeah, that’s right you better run!” They didn’t chase after him. Small mercies.

 

Billy burst into the nearest restroom. He stumbled into the first stall and fumbled the lock into place before throwing up his meager breakfast. He then spent the next several minutes dry heaving, abdomen contracting uncontrollably.

“Shit,” he panted, sitting on the filthy floor of a public school’s restroom. Overhead, the warning bell sounded shrilly. _“Shit!”_ Billy fumbled to his feet. He grabbed some toilet paper to wipe his mouth. He flushed the toilet and rushed out of the stall. He washed his hands and quickly splashed his sweaty face. He ran out of the restroom and down the hall to his classroom.

 

Panting heavily, Billy collapsed into his desk at the back of his classroom just as the late bell was sounding. He dropped his face into his hands. His stomach convulsed painfully. He pressed a hand over his mouth, but he had nothing to fear for there was nothing left to come up. He groaned softly. His English teacher was talking, but he couldn’t be bothered to even try paying attention when just sitting upright was a chore.

He sunk low in his seat, his eyes drifting shut … he was jolted awake by the shrilling blare of the bell some fifty minutes later.

 

Billy blinked and rubbed at his eyes, the world a bright blur around him. There was the scrapping of chairs, the zipping of bags, and the chatter of voices around him. He grabbed his backpack from the ground and stumbled towards the door, a headache pounding behind his eyes. He caught his English teacher shooting him a disapproving look and shaking her head.

He grimaced as he stepped out into the hallway and started towards his biology classroom. She probably thought he was hung over or some shit. At least she had let him sleep through the class instead of waking him up. She probably hadn’t seen it as worth the effort, had probably written him off as a lost cause. She would hardly be the first.

 

He walked into his biology classroom as the warning bell was sounding, having taken his time and walked much slower than he usually did. “How you holding up, man?” Freddy asked as Billy sat down in the desk next to him.

“Fine,” he grunted. He pulled a pencil from his backpack. He twirled it anxiously between his fingers. “Ready to get this shit over with,” he muttered.

“You’re gonna do great. We’re gonna knock it out of the park,” Freddy grinned. Billy smiled back weakly.

 

The final bell blared. Billy winced at the sharp noise. Their biology teacher, Ms. Shaw, immediately called for quiet. She gave some brief instructions – which Billy tried to pay attention to even as his guts seemed to be attempting to tie themselves into increasingly intricate fisherman knots – before passing out the test papers.

 

Billy turned his over and flipped through it. Four pages, forty questions, a mixture of multiple choice, true and false, and short answer. He flipped back to start of the test. He looked at the first blank question on the first blank page and his mind went blank. Panic welled in his chest, pushing against his ribs and constricting his lungs. He didn’t know any of this shit. Fuck. He couldn’t do this.

He looked to Freddy. The other boy was hunched over his own test, writing furiously. Freddy glanced up, catching Billy’s gaze. Freddy smiled at him, easy and confident, and something loosened in Billy’s chest. Freddy returned to his test. Billy closed his eyes and breathed deep. He could do this. He opened his eyes and reread the first question. ‘What is the equation of cellular respiration?’ Billy smiled. He knew that. He could do this.

 

He had just finished the first page when he broke out into a cold sweat. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as a fresh wave of pain twisted his stomach. He breathed heavily as he read the next question. ‘What are plant cell walls composed of?’ Billy knew the answer, if only he could focus past the buzzing of the fluorescent overhead lights.

‘What are plant cell walls composed of?’ They were composed of. . .it was. . .his heart thumped heavy in his chest. He couldn’t even read the answer choices as the words on the page blurred into an unintelligible mess. The buzzing filled his skull like a hive of angry bees.

He blinked his eyes furiously, but it did no good. Everything was a flurry of too bright colors like someone had cranked up the saturation. Cell walls are made of. . .made of. . .his hands shook. His pencil clattered from numb fingers. His stomach rolled as did the ground beneath his feet. His skin pricked, feeling both too hot and too cold. He wanted to crawl out of his own body. He had to move.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Freddy looked up from his test at the sound of chair legs scrapping against tile floor. “Billy?” he asked, perplexed. He watched with a sinking feeling as Billy stumbled down the aisle towards the front of the classroom.

“Mr. Batson?” Ms. Shaw called from where she was sat at her desk at the front of the room. Billy didn’t acknowledge either of them.

He listed to the side, knocking into a girl’s desk in the front row. “Watch it!” she snapped.

“Mr. Batson!” Ms. Shaw stood up from her desk.

“Billy!” Freddy shouted, a touch of panic entering his voice.

 

Billy spun to face him, the movement ungainly. Freddy’s breath caught in his throat. Billy face was devoid of all color except for a feverish flush high on his cheeks. His eyes were blown wide and dazed. “Sha—” Billy’s eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled. His knees folded, and he fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Oh shit,” Freddy exclaimed as he grabbed his crutch and got up. He wasn’t the only one who had gotten up, though most everybody else had stood up to gawk rather than help. He had to shove past other students as he tried to get to Billy.

 

“Stay seated,” Ms. Shaw ordered as she knelt beside Billy. Most of his classmates listened to their teacher, making it much easier for Freddy to get to the front of the classroom. He saw Ms. Shaw trying to help a listless Billy sit up. He rewarded her by throwing up stomach fluid all over her shoes.

“Oh fuck,” Freddy exclaimed, as a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘sicks’ swept through the class.

 

Freddy dropped to the ground next to Billy, ignoring the twinge in his bad leg. He grabbed one of Billy’s shoulders and a fistful of his hoodie, and pulled him back to stop him from face planting in his own vomit. Freddy grunted with effort. Billy was dead weight. Luckily, Ms. Shaw recovered from her shock at being puked on quick enough to help him. They got Billy sitting up, though he was leaning heavily against Freddy and seemed only semi-conscious at best.

 

“Ms. Shaw,” a blonde haired girl said as she offered Ms. Shaw a roll of paper towels she had retrieved from the lab supplies.

“Thank you, Miss. Scott,” Ms. Shaw said as she took the paper towels.

While Ms. Shaw was focused on mopping up the vomit from her shoes, Freddy turned his attention to his foster brother. “Billy? Hey, Billy?” he called softly, tightening his arms around Billy’s practically boneless form and pulling him closer.

“mph,” Billy groaned, his head rolling so his face was turned towards Freddy’s. He blinked, eyes glassy. “Fred. . .?”

“Hiya, Bill, how ya doing?” Freddy asked, a touch giddy that Billy was at least talking.

Billy’s brow furrowed. “’m not fine,” he stated, words badly slurred.

“That’s alright, man, you will be,” Freddy said. Billy mumbled something Freddy didn’t catch. His eyes fluttered shut, his head lulled against Freddy’s shoulder. “Billy?” Freddy called, shaking him, afraid that Billy had passed out again.

“What?” Billy grunted indignantly. Freddy let out a relieved breath.

 

Freddy looked up when Ms. Shaw moved to kneel in front of them. “Let’s get you to the nurse’s office, Mr. Batson,” Ms. Shaw said with a kind smile.

“Think you can stand up?” Freddy asked.

“Yes,” Billy said, not sounding particularly certain or like he was totally aware of what he was agreeing to.

 

Billy completely ignored the hand Ms. Shaw offered, and instead grabbed onto the edge of a nearby desk to pull himself shakily to his feet. Freddy grabbed his crutch and quickly got up. “You good, man?” he asked, grabbing Billy’s arm. Billy grunted in the affirmative. He pushed away from the desk and staggered towards the door. Freddy supported him as well as he could, which really wasn’t much. Freddy wished he could just shout ‘shazam’ and fly Billy to the nurse’s—or better yet, fly him home.

 

They were almost to the door when Billy tripped, his hoodie slipping from Freddy’s grasp. “Careful,” Ms. Shaw said, grabbing Billy’s arm to steady him before he could fall.

“No,” Billy’s breath hitched. He pulled away from Ms. Shaw like he had been burned. He stumbled into the door frame, hitting it hard and gripping it tightly. The action caused something to twist in Freddy’s chest, as it reinforced what he already suspected. He really wished he could just shout ‘shazam’ and fly them away from here.

 

“It’s alright, Billy,” Freddy said, inserting himself between Billy and their teacher.

 Billy looked at him, cheeks fever flushed and fear shining in his dazed eyes. “Freddy. . .I can’t,” he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice as he hunched his shoulders and curled in on himself—making himself smaller. It was something Mary had done in the early days after she had been placed in the Vasquez home after running away from her bastard parents.

 

Seeing his siblings fearful of those who they should be able to trust was like a knife twisting in his gut.

 

“It’s alright, Billy,” Freddy repeated. He reached out to lay a hand on Billy’s shoulder, making the gesture slow and clear as to not startle him. “You don’t need to. I’ve got you, brother,” he said, gripping Billy’s shoulder lightly. Billy looked at him, expression open and painfully vulnerable, as he slowly began to unfurl from his hunched position. “Always, remember,” Freddy grinned, moving his arm to wrap around Billy’s shoulder’s.

“I remember,” the corners of Billy’s lips twitched into a small smile, he removed one of his hands from the doorframe to instead wrap it around Freddy’s back.

 

Freddy glanced around. He noted with distant gratitude that not only had Ms. Shaw stepped back to give them space, but that she had also moved to position herself to at least partially block them from the prying eyes of their classmates. “Do you want me to walk with you to the nurse’s?” she asked him.

Freddy glanced at Billy then back to their teacher. “I think we’ve got it.”

“Alright,” she nodded. She stepped forward to grab a hall pass from where it was hanging from a hook on the wall. She handed it to Freddy. “Do feel better, Mr. Batson,” she said before turning to try and call order back to the class.

Freddy hung the hall pass from his crutch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he said, giving Billy’s shoulder a light squeeze.

 

They shuffled out of the room and down the hall. Billy kept one hand on the wall and the other around Freddy. It was slow going, and the nurse’s office was on the other side of the building. Soon, Billy was shaking pretty badly, from chills or exertion Freddy couldn’t really say, and his breathing was labored. “Maybe we should take a break,” Freddy suggested. Billy’s response was to sink to the floor. Freddy sat down next to him. They had only made it a couple of halls.

 

Billy groaned, doubling over, one hand wrapping around his gut the other covering his mouth. “Are you going to throw up?” Freddy asked. His eyes darted around, looking for a trashcan or a bathroom. Billy shook his head. “Are you sure?” Freddy pressed. There was a large trashcan a little ways down the hall and he began calculating his ability to either get Billy to it or get it to Billy.

Billy nodded weakly. He dropped his hand from his mouth and slumped against the wall, arms curled loosely around his stomach. “Okay. . .okay. . .” Freddy muttered, more to himself than to Billy. It was still quite a ways to the nurse’s office, and Billy looked wiped.

 

The echo of footsteps had him looking up. A security guard was walking towards them. As the man got closer, Freddy realized he recognized him—Detective Moran. “We have a hall pass,” Freddy declared before the guard could even ask. He shook his crutch, hall pass swinging like a white flag of surrender.

“Is your brother alright?” Moran asked.

“He’s sick. I’m taking him to the nurse,” Freddy explained.

“You’re not doing that sitting on the floor,” Moran said, crouching in front of them and peering at Billy. Billy groaned, curling in on himself.

“He’s really sick,” Freddy stated, shifting to place himself between Billy and the guard.

Moran nodded. He stood. “Wait here a moment, boys,” he said before turning and walking away briskly. He disappeared into a nearby office.

“Wha’s he doin’” Billy mumbled.

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about it,” Freddy replied.

 

Moran soon emerged from the office. He was pushing a rolling office chair. “Thought this might help, beats walking,” he explained.

A grin bloomed on Freddy’s face with dawning understanding. “That’s great,” he told Moran before turning to Billy. “Think you can get up? Your chariot awaits.”

“Wha. . .” Billy blinked, looking around. His gaze settled on the rolling chair. “Oh, okay.”

 Freddy helped Billy up and into the office chair while Moran held it steady so it didn’t roll around. “Thanks for this,” Freddy said as they started walking towards the nurse’s, Moran pushing the chair Billy was sat in.

Moran shrugged, “just doing my job.”

 

Moran kept up an idle stream of chatter as they walked, which Freddy tried to pretend to at least be slightly interested in. He gave half-assed answers when Moran asked about his and Billy’s ‘dad’ and the ‘business office,’ but really he was more focused on Billy. His foster brother was slumped in the chair, eyes half lidded, and Freddy had a hand firmly gripping his hoodie as he was slightly afraid Billy might slip right out of the chair.

Thankfully, they arrived at the door to the nurse’s office without such a thing occurring.

 

Freddy held the door open, and Moran pushed Billy inside. “What’s happened here?” the nurse asked as she stood up from her desk and walked around it.

“Yeah, my brother Billy is sick. He’s been throwing up, and he fainted in class,” Freddy explained.

The nurse nodded. “Billy,” she knelt in front of the chair. “Are you still feeling faint?”

“Um. . .” he mumbled.

“Light headed, dizzy?” she expanded.

Billy glanced at Freddy before reluctantly answering. “I guess,” he shrugged.

“Okay, let’s get you laid down. That sound alright?” she said, gesturing to a simple cot in the corner of the room.

“Sounds great,” he muttered. Moran pushed the office chair so that it was next to the cot. Billy crawled onto the cot and laid down on it with a drawn out sigh.

 

“When did the vomiting start?” the nurse asked as she reached into an overhead cabinet and pulled down a pillow.

Billy pressed his lips together and didn't seem inclined to answer so Freddy replied, "yesterday."

“I’m going to prop your legs up. It’ll help with the faintness,” the nurse explained before positioning the pillow under his feet. Billy watched her movements carefully despite the weariness that was clearly pulling at him. “Have you been able to keep anything down?”

Billy’s eyes flicked to Freddy before going back to the nurse. He shook his head.

“Having you taken anything?” she asked, digging through another cabinet.

“I gave him some Tylenol last night,” Freddy answered.

“I’m going to take your temperature, okay?” she said, pulling an ear thermometer from the cabinet. Billy stiffened when the nurse leaned over him, Freddy reached out and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Billy held still, and let the nurse take his temperature. He let out a relieved breath when the thermometer beeped and she moved back.

 

“101.7,” she read out. “I believe you have the stomach flu, and the fainting spell was caused by dehydration. It’s nothing to be alarmed over. All you need is plenty of rest and plenty of fluids. I’ll bring you some water and another dosage of Tylenol,” she explained before walking away.

“Seems you boys are in good hands. I should be returning to my route now,” Moran commented.

Freddy nodded. “Thanks for all your help.”

“’s no problem,” Moran shook his head. “Hope you get to feeling better soon, Billy,” Moran said before wheeling his chair out of the nurse’s office.

 

Freddy grabbed a nearby hardback chair and pulled it up next to the head of the cot and sat down. “How are you feeling?” he asked Billy. He was at the very least looking a bit better. He had gotten some of his color back and now looked more like an actual living human being and less like a ghost.

“Can’t believe I puked on Ms. Shaw,” Billy mumbled.

“After fainting like a Victorian lady,” Freddy said, lightly teasing. But maybe it was too soon for that.

“Shit,” Billy grimaced, “I’m never hearing the end of that am I?”

 

Freddy worried his lip, because yeah, nobody was gonna forget what happened quickly. He could easily imagine the bullying that was sure to follow. At least it had happened during a test, so there had been no phones out to record the whole thing. But that was a small consolation. The whole thing shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

 

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Freddy stated, guilt turning in his stomach.

“Not your fault,” he shrugged.

“Kind of is,” Freddy said.

“Hell you figure that?” Billy frowned.

“I knew you were sick. I should of gotten you to stay home,” he said.

“No way was I missing school,” Billy scoffed. Freddy couldn’t help but begin to smile even though the conversation was bordering on an argument. Billy saw this. His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just good to hear you talking in complete sentences again,” Freddy stated.

 

The nurse walked back towards them, effectively ending the conversation. “Here we are,” she said holding out a water bottle with a straw in it and a plastic medicine cup containing two white pills.

“Thanks,” Billy said, sitting up slightly, so he could take the pills and water.

“I’ll call your guardians to come pick you up,” she said as Billy took the pills. “Full name and I.D. number?”

“Billy Batson, um. . .” Freddy trailed. “What’s your I.D.?” he asked Billy.

 

“Is, is calling my guardians really necessary?” Billy asked the nurse.

“Dude, seriously?” Freddy exclaimed, shocked. Billy ducked his head, fiddling with his sleeves. Freddy felt bad for shouting, but honestly he was feeling out of his depth here, and _he_ wanted Rosa and Victor.

“I can’t send you back to class. You could rest here for the rest of the day, but I would much rather send you home. Is there. . .an issue with calling your guardians?” the nurse replied, voice careful.

 

“I’ll stay here. There’s no reason to bother them,” Billy stated with a decisive nod.

“Billy,” Freddy said, dismayed.

“I’ll, I’ll meet up with you after school,” he said, pulling at his sleeves.

“No,” Freddy placed his hands over Billy’s, halting his fiddling. Billy looked up at him, taking in an audible breath. “Billy, I’m not leaving you here, and Rosa and Victor wouldn’t want you to be left here either. Why are you so against calling them? Are. . .” Freddy’s voice dropped to a whisper, “are you afraid of them?”

“No,” Billy stated, and Freddy was relieved that he sounded pretty definitive on that regard. “I just. . .they’d have to leave work to get me. They’ll be upset.”

 

“They would be upset if I left you here by yourself all day. They won’t be upset at you for being sick,” Freddy replied. Billy still looked dubious. Freddy gripped his hands. “Billy, Rosa and Victor will be happy to leave work to come get you. They’ll want to help you same as I have, because they’re your family same as I am.” The shock on Billy’s face at that declaration made Freddy angry—not at Billy, but at everyone who had treated him in such a manner as to cause him to find it so hard to believe that people could really care about him. “I promise.”

 

Billy nodded, still looking a touch dumbfounded, “okay.”

Freddy smiled. “Your I.D.?”

“Oh, um. . .” Billy shifted and dug his wallet from his jeans’ pocket. “Here,” he handed it to Freddy. Freddy opened Billy’s wallet and found his school I.D. card inside. He pulled it out and held it out to the nurse. The nurse looked between the two of them, gaze calculating, before taking the card.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” the nurse said before turning and walking back towards her desk.

 

Freddy looked up as the bell signaling the end of class sounded. He glanced at Billy. “Hey,” he called when the ringing had ended.

“Hm?” Billy hummed. His energy seemed to be waning.

“Do you think Ms. Shaw will just give everyone an A on the test since I doubt anyone was able to finish?” he asked. He also bet that at least a couple people had used the chaos of Billy getting sick to cheat and compare answers or pull out notes.

Billy smiled, a sleepy smile. “That would be nice.”

“Would be super nice, would make her my all-time favorite teacher,” Freddy stated.

 

The nurse soon returned from calling their foster parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez will be here in about twenty minutes to pick you up. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything,” she said.  “Will you be heading back to class?” she asked Freddy. Billy was fully awake now, and looking at Freddy with a question in his gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Freddy shook his head. “I’m staying right here, with my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up rewriting and rearranging most of the last scene last night (hopefully it reads smoothly) as a result the last chapter pretty much needs to be completely rewritten, and I'm getting ready to go out of town for a few days. Oops.
> 
> So yeah, the last chapter will be much slower coming. I'm gonna try and get it out as fast as I can, but I don't wanna rush it and upload something I'm not satisfied with. Sorry!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned!! Sorry for the long delay on this chapter. I appreciate y'all's patience and hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Billy was hanging on the hazy edge of sleep when the door to the nurse’s office opened and Victor and Rosa entered. “Billy, Freddy,” Rosa said, rushing towards them with Victor on her heels. Billy pushed himself up into a sitting position. Anxiety turned his stomach. He had no idea what to say. Luckily, Freddy had that covered.

 

“Rosa! Victor!” Freddy beamed. “Man, am I glad to see you guys. Billy’s really sick.”

“The nurse told us over the phone,” Victor nodded.

“She said you passed out during class,” Rosa said, voice heavy with concern. She reached for his face, and Billy barely stamped down the instinct to shy away. A hand coming for his face was rarely a good thing, but this was Rosa. She brushed back his bangs and pressed a dry palm to his forehead. “Oh, Billy,” she tutted softly. Billy’s chest ached at the. . .the motherliness of the action.

“How are you feeling now, Billy?” Victor asked. He shrugged, tongue feeling heavy and swollen in his mouth.

“As I told you over the phone, I believe it’s the stomach flu. Billy needs lots of rest and. . .” Billy tuned out the rest of the nurse’s explanation having heard it already.

 

“Let’s get you home, kiddo,” Victor said. Billy flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up, catching the sorrow and hurt and even a glint of understanding which flashed across Victor’s face.

Billy ducked his head muttering a “sorry” so soft he wasn’t sure anyone heard it.

“Man, I wish I could go home and nap instead of going to geography,” Freddy commented loudly before an awkward silence could settle.

“I think you’ve missed enough class,” Rosa scolded gently. Billy’s stomach twisted. That was his fault.

“Kidding, kidding,” Freddy replied with an easy smile.

“I’ll write you a note for your teacher,” the nurse said.

 

Freddy looked at Billy with open concern. “You gonna be alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Billy’s voice came out rough. He cleared his throat. “It’s just a stomach bug,” he shrugged.

“A stomach bug which knocked you flat on your ass—” Freddy began.

“Language,” Victor interrupted.

“—on your butt. Which scared the bejeezus out of me by the way,” Freddy stated, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Billy’s shoulders and pull him into a hug. This surprised Billy perhaps more than it should of, and it took him an extra beat to return the hug. Freddy turned his head. “Trusting them isn’t a mistake. I promise,” he whispered. Freddy leaned back, hands moving to rest on Billy’s shoulders. “I’ll see you after school, okay?”

“Okay,” Billy responded, with a touch of reluctance he did his best to mask. It was stupid, Freddy obviously couldn’t miss the rest of the school day, but Billy really didn’t want him go.

“Make sure to get plenty of rest and drink lots of water. Understood?” Freddy instructed.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Dr. Freeman,” he snorted.

 

“Your note,” the nurse said, holding out a strip of paper to Freddy.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” Freddy said, taking it.

“Time to get back to class, kiddo,” Victor stated.

“Okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going,” Freddy picked up his backpack – one of their classmates had dropped off his and Billy’s backpacks at the nurse’s between classes – and crutch and walked towards the door. “Remember: rest and water,” he called to Billy before leaving.

 

It was absurd that Billy immediately felt lonely, even vulnerable, with Freddy gone. If there was one thing Billy knew it was that he could not depend on anyone else. . .but he had been breaking that rule a lot as of late. It was only thanks to the others that he was able to defeat Dr. Sivana and the sins. Freddy said they would always be brothers, and Billy did believe that when Freddy said it he meant it—he wanted to believe that Freddy would still feel that way in a week, in a month, in a year. He wanted to believe Freddy wouldn’t tire of him.

It was a wonderful vision of the future, but it was frightening as well. After all, six months was the longest he’d ever made it in a foster home. People didn’t want him around for long, and he learned not to overstay his welcome. He never wanted to be unwelcome in the Vasquez home, and maybe. . .Victor and Rosa had welcomed him back after he had run away—more than once. No other foster parents had ever done that. No one had ever wanted him back before.

 

“Ready to go?” Rosa asked.

“Yeah,” Billy muttered. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and stood up on shaky legs. He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a hand on the cot.

“Billy?” Rosa did not grab him but instead held out a hand for Billy to take if he wished. Billy hesitated for half a moment before grasping her hand. “You good?” Rosa asked, wrapping her free arm around his back. Billy nodded.

 

Victor picked up Billy’s backpack, and the three of them walked out of the nurse’s office together. “I’ll go get the car warmed up,” Victor said before striding down the hall at a much brisker pace than Billy and Rosa. Billy watched Victor disappear around a corner, frustration bubbling in his chest as he was already beginning to feel tired even at his and Rosa’s subdued pace.

 

“Billy,” Rosa began, and the seriousness of her tone immediately put him on edge. “Victor and I, we will never hit you or hurt you in any fashion under any circumstances,” she stated.

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise at the bluntness of her statement. Most people tended to dance around such issues. “I know,” he said.

 

He had flinched when Victor touched his shoulder because Victor had surprised him. Nothing more, nothing less. He hadn’t been lying to Freddy when he said he wasn’t afraid of Victor and Rosa, at least not really. He wasn’t afraid of them being violent with him. If he thought they were the type of people who smacked kids around he would have been long gone. When he first arrived and Freddy had darkly joked that Victor had pushed him from the bedroom window, for a moment Billy had believed him.

Billy’s heart had beat heavy in his chest, and his eyes had darted around in search of the fastest and easiest escape route. Fuck enjoying a night or two in a warm bed, Victor was a big man and Billy knew a big man’s anger was a terrible thing. He wasn’t going to stick around long enough to be on the receiving end of it. Freddy’s laughter and declaration that he was kidding had hit Billy like a cold wave.

 

Billy had ended up being on the receiving end of Victor’s anger, and it was terrible but not in any of the ways which Billy would have expected. As Victor had scolded Billy for ditching school and getting into fights, his hands had remained firmly planted on his hips. No matter how much Victor’s voice rose not once did he raise a hand at Billy. Instead of fear Billy had felt shame and a touch of puzzlement.

He had felt ashamed that he had failed to live up to Rosa and Victor’s expectations. He had been puzzled that they had such expectations to begin with. It had been years since he’d had foster parents who had done more than take one look at his file and dismiss him as a lost cause. For a teenager like him, most would count it a victory if he made it to eighteen alive and out of prison.

 

“And we won’t tolerate anyone else hurting you,” Rosa stated.

 Billy frowned. “No one’s hurting me.”

“But someone has before,” Rosa replied softly. His silence was answer enough. “You don’t deserve that. You never did,” she stated.

Billy’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t quite sure he believed that. His mouth felt dry. “I’ve been a real dick,” he muttered, voice rough.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Rosa stopped walking. She squeezed his hand. “Nothing you say or do gives someone else the right to mistreat you,” she stated. “You deserve to feel happy and safe, and if there is anything Victor and I can do to help you with that I want you to know that you can tells us.”

Billy blinked his eyes rapidly against the tears which had gathered in them. He nodded his head jerkily, throat too tight to give a verbal response. “Let’s get you to the car,” Rosa said gently, giving his hand another squeeze as they started walking again.

 

Victor and Rosa were not like most people. They saw his file and still they believed that he could amount to something more. They believed in him. No, what Billy really feared from them was rejection, was for them to realize their belief was misplaced and for them to give up on him like so many others had—like his mother had.

 

By the time they arrived at the front of the school Billy was leaning heavily against Rosa. Rosa shouldered open one of the glass doors and they walked outside. Billy ducked his face against a cold wind. Rosa stepped away from him, and Billy’s gaze shot towards her. He was puzzled to find her taking off her overcoat. “Rosa?”

“Just a little further,” Rosa reassured. She draped her coat over his shoulder, wrapping it around his shivering form. Rosa pulled him back to her side with an arm about his shoulders and led him across the parking lot to the old van, which was already running with gray smoke spilling from the exhaust pipe. She pulled open the back passenger’s side door and helped Billy up into the van.

Victor twisted in the driver’s seat to face them. “Alright?” he asked.

“Better once we get home,” Rosa nodded. She grabbed the seatbelt and buckled Billy in before he even thought to reach for it himself. Billy’s brow furrowed at the action, but he didn’t comment on it.

 

Rosa shut the back door before pulling open the front passenger’s door and stepping up into the van. “We’ll be home soon,” Victor gripped her hand briefly, thumb brushing over the back of her hand, before letting go to shift the van into drive. Billy sunk down into his seat as they pulled out of the school’s parking lot. The van was warm and Rosa’s coat a comforting weight. His eyes fluttered shut. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the shuddering of the van as it rumbled down the roads would not permit it.

 

His stomach turned like an unsettled sea, and Billy was a sailor who had yet to find his sea legs. Billy pressed his lips tightly together. He’d already vomited on his teacher in front of all his classmates, he was not vomiting in his foster parents’ car. They pulled into the neighborhood the house was located in. Billy breathed deeply through his nose, his fingers curled tightly into the soft material of Rosa’s coat. They turned onto the correct street. Billy could feel bile climbing up the back of his throat. They pulled into the driveway, and Billy was fumbling his seatbelt off and throwing the door open before Victor had even fully stopped the van.

_“Billy!”_ Victor shouted, but Billy scarcely heard him over the roaring of blood in his ears. He fell out of the van, hands and knees hitting the rough concrete hard, and vomited bile onto the snow coated ground before him.

“Billy!” Rosa knelt beside him.

Billy wretched again. “Sorry,” he groaned throat burning and snow melting to soak through the knees of his jeans.

He started to slump to the side. “I’ve got you,” Rosa steadied him with an arm about his chest. “It’s alright, just breath,” she rubbed slow circles on his back.

 

“Billy, are you alright?” Victor asked as he knelt beside them.

“’m fine,” he muttered. He tried to stand, but his vision wavered alarmingly. He sunk back to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered. He had knocked Rosa’s coat off in his rush, leaving it behind in the van. It was for the best. It would have been a shame if he had gotten vomit on it.

 

“Steady,” Victor laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to pick you up, get you inside. Is that okay?” Victor said, waiting for some sort of agreement from Billy before moving. If Billy insisted against it, Victor would not force him. It was knowing this that Billy gave a minute nod. Victor lifted him with little effort, one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees. Rosa walked ahead of them and opened the front door. Victor angled his body, moving through the doorway carefully as to not knock Billy into the doorframe or the walls.

 

Victor strode across the entryway and through the living room and started up the stairs. His steps were sure and his hold secure. As the steps creaked under their combined weight, Billy felt no fear of being dropped. Victor carried him up the stairs and down the hall to his and Freddy’s shared room, and Billy wondered when the last time he had been carried like this was. He assumed it had been by his mom when he was small but honestly couldn’t remember. “There we are,” Victor said as he set Billy down on Freddy’s bunk.

 

Rosa entered the room behind them. She headed to the dresser and started going through the drawer containing Billy’s clothes. Old instincts had Billy prickling at someone going through his things, but he pushed the feeling down. Rosa pulled from the dresser a pair of sweatpants and another of his long sleeve gray shirts. She moved towards Billy, setting the clothes on the bed beside him.

 

“Do you need help changing?” Victor asked.

“No,” Billy stated. The offer didn’t alarm him. He knew it was a genuine offer of help, and that there was no ulterior motive. Regardless, he honestly wasn’t comfortable accepting the help and didn’t really need it anyways.

“Okay, I’m going to bring the things in from the car,” he told Billy.

“We’ll be back to check on you soon,” Rosa patted his shoulder before leaving the room with Victor.

 

Billy changed slowly and with effort. His fall in the driveway had scrapped his palms, leaving them pained and resistant to movement. He got small smears of blood on his clothing, but made sure not to get any on Freddy’s sheets. When he was finished changing Billy toppled over onto his side, unbelievably tired. He wanted to curl up under Freddy’s sheets and go to sleep, but again he didn’t want to risk getting blood on them. Instead he laid on top of the sheets with his hands hanging over the edge of the bed.

 

A few minutes later there was a soft knock on the door before Rosa entered. “Doing al—oh mijo,” her expression softened with sympathy as she took in the battered state of Billy’s hands. She placed a water bottle with a straw sticking out of it on the bedside table then grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it up over Billy. “I’ll go grab the first-aid kit,” she said as she tucked the blanket around him.

 

Rosa left and soon returned along with Victor. She sat down beside the bed and opened up the first aid kit, riffling through it. Meanwhile, Victor set Billy’s backpack down by the desk before joining Rosa at the bedside. “Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling bad?” Victor asked as Rosa gently took Billy’s hands in hers and began to clean his palms with antiseptic wipes.

Billy’s fingers twitched in response to the sting of the antiseptic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, because an apology was the safest response – Victor and Rosa both frowned – or so Billy thought.

“We’re not upset with you, Billy. We’re just trying to understand why you didn’t feel like you could come to us with this,” Victor replied.

Billy stared at his hands laying in Rosa’s. He shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t seem that big a deal.”

 

“You’ve been throwing up, running a fever, you fainted in class. That sounds like a big deal to me,” Rosa commented as she spread antibiotic ointment over his scraps. Her voice was gentle, but her words still made Billy want to hide.

“I wasn’t fainting last night,” he huffed, half tucking his face under the blanket so only his eyes peeked out. He kept his gaze focused on Rosa wrapping his hands and avoided looking at the expressions on either of their faces.

“But you were feeling sick,” Victor pressed.

“I had it covered.” Thanks to Freddy. “There was no reason to bother you guys.”

 

 _“Billy,”_ Victor’s voice was heavy with emotion. Billy’s gaze flicked to Victor’s face, and he was shocked to find the man’s eyes glistening with unshed tears. Victor reached for him slowly. “You’ll never be a bother, Billy,” he stated as he gently brushed Billy’s bangs from his eyes. “Whatever it is, whenever it is, you can always come to Rosa and I.”

Billy ducked his face fully under the blanket as moisture began to well in his own eyes. “We will never ignore you or turn you away,” Rosa promised raising his right hand and pressing a kiss to his gauze covered palm. Tears rolled down Billy’s face and dampened the sheets beneath him.

 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Rosa asked, letting go of his hands.

“’m fine,” Billy mumbled, pulling his hands under the blanket and carefully wiping at his face and eyes.

“Billy,” Rosa pressed.

“Maybe a few bruises, nothing’s bleeding,” he answered, peeking out from under the blanket.

Rosa nodded. She picked up the water bottle from the bedside table and offered it to him. With a touch of reluctance, Billy pushed himself up to his elbows. He drank a few sips before laying back down.

 

“Is there anything else you need?” Victor asked.

Billy shook his head. “Thanks—for everything,” he said.

Victor smiled. “Thanks for giving our family a chance.” He patted Billy’s shoulder. “Try and get some rest, son, we’ll be around if you need anything.”

“You’re. . .not going back to work?” Billy asked as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“They’ll make do without us. You’re more important,” Rosa answered. She reached out to card her hand through his hair. She began to hum and then to sing in Spanish as she remained seated by the bed. Victor wrapped an arm around Rosa’s shoulders, his own voice joining hers in a seamless harmony. Billy couldn’t understand the song, but the soft tones of their combined voices soon ushered him into a peaceful sleep.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When Billy woke his mouth felt dry and stale and a headache pulsed behind his eyes. He rolled over in bed, the mattress creaking beneath him, and reached for the water bottle sitting on the bedside table. He pushed himself up so he could drink, ignoring the stab of pain which laced through his skull. “Hey, kiddo,” Victor said.

 

Billy looked over to find him sitting at his and Freddy’s desk. “How’re you feeling?” Victor asked, removing a pair of reading glasses and setting them down on a small stack of paperwork. Billy shrugged, sipping slowly at the water. “Feel up to eating something? Just something plain like crackers.”

“I guess,” Billy muttered around the straw. He didn’t really feel like eating anything, but he knew hunger well enough to recognize it as the source of his headache.

Victor stood up from the desk. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Billy watched him leave then shifted his gaze to the digital clock in the room. He had slept for a couple hours. Normally, he would be at lunch with Freddy at this time. He wondered how Freddy was doing. If he had found someone else to eat with, or if he was sitting at a table alone. Freddy’s popularity had seen a brief spike after the lunch where Billy had shown up as Shazam along with Superman, but some time had passed since then and the regard of teenagers was frugal and fleeting.

 

Victor re-entered the room along with Rosa. “Don’t force yourself to eat more than you feel you can,” Victor said as he opened a sleeve of saltine crackers and handed them to him.

“Are you feeling any better?” Rosa asked, pushing up his bangs to feel his forehead.

Billy pulled out a cracker and turned it over in his hand. “A little.”

“Anything in particular bothering you?” Rosa pushed.

Billy nibbled on the cracker and considered the question, reminding himself that this was Rosa and Victor and he could answer honestly. He swallowed. “My head hurts, I’m still real tired, but my stomach feels a bit better,” he stated softly.

Rosa nodded. “Eat what you can and drink some more water then go back to sleep. Your body needs it,” she instructed, brushing her hand through his hair.

 

Billy did as she said, eating a couple crackers before laying back down. “Need anything else?” Victor asked as he pulled up the blankets and tucked them around him.

“’m good,” Billy mumbled already feeling the pull of sleep and welcoming it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When next Billy woke, it was to Freddy puttering about their room. Billy pushed himself up into a sitting position. Freddy turned to face him. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

“’s fine,” Billy shook his head. He picked up the water bottle and drank. “You just get home?”

Freddy nodded. “A bit ago. How’re you doing?” Freddy sat down at the desk, draping one of his arms over the back of the chair.

“Better,” Billy replied. “You were right,” he stated.

“I usually am, and you would do well to listen to me more often,” Freddy said. “But just so we’re clear what exactly was I right about?”

 

Billy rolled the water bottle between his bandaged hands, listening to the soft crinkle of the plastic. “Rosa and Victor.”

Freddy nodded. “They’re good people.”

“I knew that. I just. . .” Billy’s brow furrowed as he searched for the words. “I just didn’t realize I meant that much to them.” Billy wanted Rosa and Victor’s acceptance and love, but he had imagined it as something he would have to work for and earn. He had never dreamed that it was something they would freely give to him.

 

“You’re important to all of us, Billy, more important than you probably realize,” Freddy stated. He smiled, “you know, the only reason the others aren’t in here pestering you is that Victor gave stern instructions to let you rest. Of course, this being my room as well I get a free pass to be in here as much as I want—but like, it’s totally cool if you want me to leave. Seriously, if I’m annoying you or keeping you from resting just say the word and I’ll go.”

“Stay,” Billy shook his head. “I’ve been sleeping pretty much since I got home. I’m honestly sick of it.”

 

“Sick of being sick,” Freddy chuckled. “You wanna hear something interesting?”

“Hm?” Billy hummed.

“Antarctica is the only continent without any reptiles or snakes,” he said.

Billy considered that for a moment. “That makes sense.”

“It’s also the only continent without a McDonalds,” Freddy stated.

“That. . .” Billy’s brow furrowed. “also makes sense.”

“Now, there I must civilly disagree with you,” Freddy said, folding both of his arms across the back of the desk chair. “See, it is my opinion that a McDonalds should be built in Antarctica because. . .” They playfully debated the merits of a McDonalds in Antarctica until Rosa entered their room around forty minutes later.

 

“Remember, it’s your night to fix dinner, Freddy,” she said.

“Oh right,” Freddy grabbed his crutch and stood up. “Awesome. Frozen pizza it is then,” he stated as he walked towards the door.

“You can put in a little more effort than that,” Rosa said.

“Aw, but everybody loves pizza,” Freddy replied.

“And we’ve already had it once this week,” Rosa stated.

“Alright, I’ll make spaghetti. Is that okay?” Freddy asked.

“Sounds good,” Rosa nodded.

“Of course it will be: I’m cooking!” Freddy exclaimed as he left the room and walked down the hall.

 

Rosa turned to Billy. “You still doing alright?” she asked.

“Better,” he nodded. His stomach felt much more settled, and he’d been able to keep down the crackers he had eaten.

“Do you feel up to eating something for dinner? I could heat you up some soup,” Rosa offered.

“That, that would be nice,” Billy answered.

“I’ll get that started for you,” Rosa said before leaving the room.

 

Billy had been alone in the room for only a couple minutes when movement at the door caught his eye. He looked over to see Darla peeking around the doorframe. “Darla?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to let you rest,” she moved so that she was fully visible but remained stopped at the threshold. She held a stuffed rabbit in both her arms.

“I can still rest with you around,” he replied, holding a hand out in invitation.

Darla grinned and ran into the room, throwing herself onto the bed and into Billy’s chest. Billy grunted as the air was knocked from his lungs. Darla sat back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Billy said, rubbing the spot she had hit.

 

“This is Knuffle Bunny,” she presented the worn stuffed animal to him. She lifted one of its paws and waved it. “Hiya, Billy. I’m very happy to meet you.”

“Hey, Knuffle Bunny.” Billy rubbed his palms together. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he said, feeling stupid but Darla was nodding approvingly.

“She has healing powers. She’ll help you feel better,” Darla stated, handing the stuffed toy to him.

“Oh, thank you, Darla,” he replied, setting the toy down on the bed next to him.

Darla giggled. “You have to hug her for her healing powers to work.”

 

Billy raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Darla nodded her head. Billy smiled, he hugged the stuffed toy indulgently, pushing down any and all feelings of this being silly. “Do you feel better?” Darla asked.

“Hm, a little, but you know what would make me feel even better?” he asked.

“What?” Darla asked quickly, sitting up straighter.

“A magical Darla hug,” he said holding his arms out in invitation.

Darla beamed and wrapped her arms around his chest. She looked up at him. “Feeling better?”

“Very,” he stated wrapping his arms loosely around her shoulders. Darla giggled and snuggled into his side.

 

She remained there until Rosa returned with a soup mug in hand. “I’m helping Billy feel better,” Darla declared.

“I can see that,” Rosa chuckled. “But now you need to get washed up for dinner.”

“Knuffle Bunny will stay with you until you’re all better,” Darla said, letting go of Billy and sliding off the bed.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Billy promised.

“Silly,” Darla shook her head. “She’ll take care of you.”

“Right, of course,” Billy smiled.

Darla skipped towards the door. “Wash your hands thoroughly,” Rosa instructed, touching her shoulder as she passed.

“Yes, momma,” Darla replied, bounding out of the room and down the hall.

 

Rosa walked to the bunk and sat down next to Billy on the bed. “Chicken noddle soup,” she said as she handed him the mug.

“Thanks, Rosa,” he said, curling his hands around the warm ceramic. With the soup in front of him he realized he was actually hungry, saliva pooling in his mouth at the tantalizing smell. He eagerly gripped the spoon and lifted it to his mouth.

“Not homemade but heated from a can I’m afraid,” she commented. Billy had only ever eaten soup from a can.

He tried a spoonful. He swallowed, “it tastes great to me.”

 

“That’s good,” She picked up the sleeve of saltine crackers from the bedside table, and set them on her lap so he could easily reach them if he wanted to. Billy took one of the crackers and dipped it in the soup before eating it. Rosa pushed back his bangs to feel his forehead. “It seems your fever has broken,” she commented.

“’m feelin’ better,” he mumbled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she scolded mildly.

He swallowed. “Sorry.”

“I’m glad you seem to be getting your appetite back, but don’t overdo it, mijo,” Rosa said with a fond smile.

“What does that mean? Mijo?” Billy asked.

“It means my son,” Rosa replied as she carded her hand through his hair.

Billy froze with the spoon half raised to his mouth. “. . .oh.”

“Billy?” Rosa’s movements halted. “Is that okay?”

 

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “That’s—” he smiled crookedly, half a laugh bursting from his lungs. He thought about Darla calling Rosa momma just a few moments ago. He thought about Victor calling him son earlier in the day. He thought about Freddy calling him brother. He thought about how Rosa was everything he had dreamed a mother would be. “I’m just. . .so happy I was placed here, that I stayed, that you _wanted_ me to stay.” He looked up at her. “I’m so happy I found this family.”

“Oh, Billy,” Rosa grinned wrapping her arms around him. Billy set the soup mug down on the bedside table so that he could return the hug. “I’m so happy you’re a part of our family now, mijo,” she said, arms tightening around him.

“Thanks. . .Mom,” he said holding on to her tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this story. It really means the world to me.  
> I'm on Tumblr as na-na-na-batcat if any of you are curious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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